


Let Joy Be Unconfined

by SilverMirror12



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drunk Dancing, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 16:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMirror12/pseuds/SilverMirror12
Summary: Aziraphale lost the fight with his facial muscles and beamed. He ducked under Crowley's arm and tugged him close. "Oh for heaven's sake, if wemustmake fools of ourselves, at least do itproperly."





	Let Joy Be Unconfined

* * *

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;  
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet  
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.  
~George Gordon, Lord Byron, _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_

* * *

"You can't be serious."

"As the grave, angel." Crowley's solemn vow was immediately undercut by a high hiccup. Which in turn destroyed Aziraphale's skeptical, faux-disapproving mask as he giggled at the absurdity of their current situation. Crowley looked torn between being proud to make Aziraphale laugh, and irritated that his moment was ruined.

"Crowley, there's no need for this."

"Oh no!" Crowley wagged a finger in Aziraphale's face. The jury was out on whether or not it was because he couldn't actually tell which of Aziraphale's faces was the real one. (If they'd just stop _swimming_...)

"You impugned my honor, sir! I de...dem--I wanna dance!"

Aziraphale caught Crowley's finger and kissed it. "It's rather impressive that you can remember _impugn _but not _demand, _precious."

A goofy smile spread across Crowley's face at the use of Aziraphale's new nickname for him. When Aziraphale tugged on his wrist, Crowley fell willingly into the sofa beside him. He rested his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder and stared up at him with unblinking yellow eyes.

"You're not off the hook, angel. You said I couldn't dance."

Aziraphale sighed, and reached for his already refilling wine glass. "I said _demons_ can't dance. You _think _you can--"

"I'mma rubbish demon!" Crowley cried, startling Aziraphale badly enough for wine to slosh over his wrist. Crowley selectively ignored his husband's drunken glare to continue, "That means I'm a fab--_hic!_\--dancer."

"I've seen you dance, Crowley," said Aziraphale, resigning himself to continuing this conversation. "1973, remember? The only thing more questionable than your movement was your hideous mustache."

"You only learned _one _dance," protested Crowley. "How d'you know what the others are s'posed to look like? Hm? Check_mate_." 

Reinvigorated by victory, Crowley lurched off of the couch and spun around to face Aziraphale (who noted, with some horror, that Crowley had sobered up just enough to be on speaking terms with balance again).

"C'mon, dance with me." Crowley extended his hand. "Lemme show you what you're missing."

"You're drunk. That's the only reason you're asking."

"_You're _drunk," Crowley retorted. "That's why you're gonna say yes."

It wasn't, actually, but Crowley was clearly on a roll. Aziraphale sighed, and remained still just long enough to be difficult before taking Crowley's hand--

\--and _shrieking _as Crowley pulled him across the floor in a wild jaunt that might be called the swing, if the person calling it that was twice as drunk as they were and suffering a terrible concussion. Somewhere in the shop a racing tune of clarinets and trumpets warbled to life.

"_Crowley_!"

"C'mon angel, keep up!" Crowley laughed. He didn't seem to care that Aziraphale wasn't dancing so much as clinging to his shoulders and stumbling after him as Crowley hauled him across the room.

"You're going to _knock _something _over_!_"_

Crowley twirled Aziraphale with a fiendish, unapologetic grin. "You think too much, Aziraphale."

"I'm doing the work of two," Aziraphale snapped.

His husband laughed--not a cackle or a snicker, but the joyous peal that was Aziraphale's alone. "The angel's _cheeky_ tonight!"

Aziraphale lost the fight with his facial muscles and beamed. He ducked under Crowley's arm and tugged him close. "Oh for heaven's sake, if we _must _make fools of ourselves, at least do it _properly_."

Crowley tried to look as smug as he felt, but his expression held such open adoration that it garbled the message. He put up no resistance as Aziraphale took the lead. Violins lent themselves to the tune while Aziraphale, only slightly better coordinated than his husband, waltzed them through the shop. Not to be outdone, Crowley zigged where Aziraphale zagged, matching his angel's attempts at a choreographed routine with reckless improvisation.

The two of them stumbled and skipped around the room, drunk on wine and the glory of touch. They shuffled through dance styles old and young, and more than a few that'd been forgotten. Eventually they settled into their own rhythm, as they always did and always would. In dance, life, or love, Crowley and Aziraphale were in a class by themselves, moving to a song only they could hear.

Crowley spun Aziraphale once, twice, three times, until tears of laughter rolled down Aziraphale's cheeks that Crowley couldn't help but kiss away. Aziraphale got his revenge a moment later when he seized Crowley, dipped him low, and refused to bring him back up.

Crowley huffed, and trusted Aziraphale with his full weight while they both caught the breath they didn't technically need. The music faded away. The couch shuffled back into position. A few books were kind enough to right themselves before their master could discover they'd ever toppled. Not that it mattered--Aziraphale had eyes only for Crowley, from the long column of his throat to the radiance of his smile.

"You see?" Crowley panted. He made no move to pull himself up yet. "Told you I was a good dancer."

Aziraphale giggled. "Point well proven, my dear. I concede."

"Yeah?" Crowley raised his head. "Where's my reward?"

Aziraphale leaned down and kissed Crowley right where he was, like a scene out of a classic movie. Crowley hummed with pleasure, and cupped Aziraphale's cheek. He stopped the blood running to his head with a thought, just so they could stay like this a moment longer.

"We should do this again. When we're sober," Aziraphale whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Slower. Somewhere bigger."

"You gonna take me to the ball, angel?" Crowley snickered.

Aziraphale kissed his nose. "I confess I'm torn between the idea of showing you off and keeping you all to myself."

"Weeell. There is _one _other dance we could try..."

Aziraphale glared. "Don't you dare."

Crowley's grin grew wicked. "It's called..."

"Anthony, I swear to God--"

"_The horizontal tango!_"

Crowley cackled madly at the ceiling.

Aziraphale dropped him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on [tumblr](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi!


End file.
